


constants of the world

by Aricia



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis, 奋斗吧少年! | The Prince of Tennis (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don't go looking for plot, Gen, guest starring the chinapuri characters, set in manga!verse, tezuka and fuji needs to learn to use their words instead of leaving everything unsaid, this is feels and nothing else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25803643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aricia/pseuds/Aricia
Summary: After two years in the professional circuit, Tezuka Kunimitsu is finally on the verge of making another breakthrough. Instead, he returns to Seigaku to captain a high school tennis team, and Fuji Shuusuke does not understand why.(Or: the one where Fuji deserves a hug, but had to resort to alternate universe shenanigans to get it.)
Relationships: Fuji Shuusuke & Mù Sīyáng, Fuji Shuusuke & Tezuka Kunimitsu, Fuji Shuusuke/Tezuka Kunimitsu, Zhuó Zhì & Tezuka Kunimitsu
Comments: 23
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic began as an attempt to define the differences in characterization between Zhuo Zhi-Fuji and Siyang-Tezuka, but by the time it's finished my understanding of them has evolved several times over. If I rewrite it right now, it will likely turn out into an entirely different beast. I hope this was an enjoyable read for you, nonetheless!
> 
> The fic is set post-new Prince of Tennis, but if you've read to at least Golden Age 148, you should have little trouble understanding what's going on.
> 
> My thanks to zaskiaz for betaing this fic, because without her, this fic would be burning in a dumpster fire already.

At the end of autumn, almost two years since Seishun Middle was invited to the U-17 camp for the first time, Tezuka Kunimitsu returns to Seigaku.

Because this is Tezuka, he arrives a full half-hour before classes are supposed to start. Early comers can find him sitting in front of the teacher's lounge, looking like an ordinary student and not a professional tennis player of quite some fame. Although he only stays there for five minutes, he is recognized, and his reappearance soon becomes common knowledge amongst the student body. Most of them, after all, have witnessed him grow from a quiet youth into a forbidding young man. It does not take them long to recognize one of theirs, finally coming back.

Fuji Shuusuke, sleep-deprived and almost late for class, hears none of it. He arrives when the halls are already empty of chatter, the classes already settled by the teacher's presence. Nobody talks to him for recess, because he spends it dozing at his desk; at lunch, he makes a beeline for the rooftop to doze some more. It isn't until three in the afternoon that Fuji feels human enough to join the world at large, just in time for school to end, and incidentally, for tennis practice to start.

His first social interaction of the day comes in the form of a vaguely human-shaped blur, colliding into him as he makes his way down to the tennis courts. "Fu~ji~ko!"

Fuji smiles. With the ease of long experience, he catches his best friend and spins to keep his balance. "Eiji. You're happy today."

"Of course I am!" Eiji beams. "Buchou's back!"

Minami-buchou, the current captain of the tennis club, has indeed been absent for the last three days. There is a rumor going around that he's involved in a demonic ritual to summon a worthy successor. It is, he suspects, Eiji's handiwork. He's caught his best friend prodding Kaidou about having a demonic buchou when he thinks other people aren't looking.

"We'll have to be on time, then," Fuji says. They turn a corner, and clubhouse comes into view. "We don't want him to make us run ten laps. Again."

"It'd be thirty, nya," Eiji droops. "He looks mean today."

"You've seen him?" Fuji frowns. Eiji doesn't usually venture into the third years' territory—nobody does, really, unless they are summoned.

Eiji bounds ahead, shoving the clubhouse door open. "Of course!" he cheers. Fuji finds his own smile widening in response. "Tezuka is in my class this year!"

The door swings forward. Fuji flinches, but the expected collision never comes.

From behind the door, a hand reaches out and pulls the door open, revealing none other than Tezuka himself. He's shorter than Fuji remembers, or perhaps he himself has gotten taller. Instead of the tennis club's regulars' jersey, he's clad in Seigaku's white-and-green PE uniform. With his head tilted just so, he looks just like the twelve-year-old of Fuji's memories, and it leaves him breathless.

"Fuji."

"...Tezuka." Somehow, Fuji offers up a smile. "Long time no see. Eiji said Minami-buchou is summoning a demon to be the next captain, but I didn't quite expect you."

Tezuka's lip twitches. "I thought I'd come and see how everyone is coming along."

"Hoi, Tezuka!" Eiji pipes up. "Fuji here is our star player, nya! He hasn't lost a game since high school. Everyone thinks he'd be buchou for sure, but since you're here—"

"Nonsense, Eiji, Oishi is the one who was supposed to be the next buchou," Fuji breezes past Tezuka as nonchalantly as he can. "We'd better change fast or we'd be late. Now that Tezuka's here, it'd be thirty laps instead of the usual ten."

"I'll leave you to it," Tezuka says. Moments later, the door swings shut.

"Who would've thought," Fuji murmurs, but Eiji hears him anyway.

"Tezuka must've been so busy," Eiji says. "He's close to qualifying for Wimbledon, isn't he? I wonder why Minami-buchou asked him to come back? He should've asked you first, Fujiko. Not that I don't want Tezuka here, of course..."

 _But he did ask me_ , Fuji thinks. A month ago, Minami-buchou had taken him aside and asked him to be the next captain. Fuji had said no, thinking that Oishi would be better-suited for the position.

He'd never considered that Oishi, too, would refuse.

And now Tezuka has, once again, pushed his dreams aside for all their sakes.

Fuji feels the wild urge to find Minami-buchou and take up the captaincy now, but he knows it's far too late. Tezuka is already here, and anything he does to push Tezuka back now would only serve as an insult instead of an attempt to set him free. What's more, today is already the seniors' last day in the club. That means the paperwork instating Tezuka as their captain must have gone through by the end of last week. Just like in that damned Hyoutei match, there is nothing Fuji could do now. He can only support Tezuka in whatever path he chooses to walk.

"He didn't even tell me that he's coming back," Fuji opens his locker a bit rougher than necessary. "If he had..."

"Nyah, I don't think he told anyone," Eiji says. "If he had, Oishi would've been angry about it for sure!" 

"We would've stopped him," Fuji says, shoving all his things into the locker. "It's a stupid move, don't you think? Leaving everything behind to chase your dreams, only to come back when you're this close to everything you've worked for." 

He tosses his racket bag in, but it overbalances, tipping over and falling squarely on his feet. The rest of his belongings topples out in its wake, giving up on its precarious balance. Fuji stares at the pile of items, resisting the urge to kick it. That would be childish.

"Fuji..."

Fuji gives a long sigh, and Eiji's arms wrapped around his shoulders. "Ne, Fuji, I think Inui has a new juice. Let's put it in Tezuka's water bottle! It'll be a nice welcome back."

Fuji laughs as he begins putting back his things in the locker. "It's fine, Eiji. I was just being stupid. I mean, we all knew Tezuka's going to leave Seigaku, sooner or later." He still remembers it like it was yesterday; he and Eiji standing off to the side, watching Tezuka win Seigaku's one and only victory against Hyotei. Understanding, with absolute certainty, that Seigaku won't hold Tezuka's attention for much longer.

He's known that his days with Tezuka were numbered for a long, long time. It's not Tezuka's fault that Fuji has difficulties with letting go.

* * *

Practice goes well, as expected.

To be precise, it goes well for anyone whose name isn't Fuji Shuusuke. As the ace of the team, he eventually finds himself roped into another match with Tezuka. His clubmates, many of whom weren't at Seishun Middle, are curious about Tezuka's prowess, and they can find no better way to explore it than throw Fuji against him.

Those who _were_ at Seishun Middle are even worse. They have seen his match with Niou and are quite convinced that a match between Fuji and Tezuka would be a spectacle. They're right, of course. Tezuka has been playing at the pro circuit, but Fuji has watched all his matches, racket gripped tight in his hand and mind buzzing with spins and counterspins. He's watched how Tezuka evolved to meet the challenges thrown at him, and spent hours with a ball machine, trying slice after slice after slice to make the ball spin just so.

The last match he'd watched was a week ago, where Tezuka faced off against a Russian power player. As Tezuka walked off the courts, he clutched his racket in his right hand, and Fuji had stared at his small figure until he'd vanished from the glare of the cameras.

Many years ago, when Tezuka walked onto the court to play Fuji for the very first time, he'd clutched his racket in the exact same way.

Fuji grits his teeth. He loses a game, wins another. Sees Tezuka stretch his arm as they change courts, and decides to throw the match.

When they meet at the net for a handshake, neither of them say anything, though Tezuka's gaze spears through Fuji and leaves him with a feeling of _not enough_. Fuji meets it head-on; offers a quirk of the lips, and turns around to find an empty bench.

Tezuka's disappointed gaze rests heavier than Fuji expects, and he feels his shoulder sloping down in response. The last time he felt this gaze, Tezuka had ambushed Fuji in the rain to have a Meaningful Conversation about tennis. Fuji will admit that he'd needed that conversation then, but he definitely doesn't now. Not when he knows exactly what he's doing.

This just won't do. When Oishi pulls Tezuka into a conversation, Fuji slips out of the high school courts. Unseen, he makes his way towards the middle school ones, only separated from theirs by a well-trimmed hedge and a rusty gate.

As a senior, today would be Ryoma's last day as captain, too. The younger boy has been walking around with a dark look on his face for the last two weeks. Fuji knows just the thing to cheer him up.

Ryoma seems to have let his successor run practice, but he's watching his junior like a hawk, glowering from a corner of the middle school courts. Fuji sneaks past the open gates and places his hands on Ryoma's shoulders. "You're going to make everyone nervous."

Ryoma doesn't jump. "Fuji-senpai. This is the middle school grounds."

"But I have a gift for you," Fuji gives Ryoma his most winning smile. "You'll like it, I promise."

Ryoma gives him a suspicious look, but consents to being led away. When they enter the high school grounds, he grumbles, "They're doing everything wrong."

"They're doing things their way," Fuji says gently. "They had a good captain, didn't they? Eventually, they'll figure things out."

"Che," Ryoma says. He's about to open his mouth—to complain more, probably, but Fuji nudges him forward and says, "Perhaps you can ask him for advice."

Golden eyes flick towards Fuji. "Who, Minami-buchou?"

"No," Fuji smiles. "Tezuka."

Ryoma's eyes swivel onto the court and unnerringly lock onto Tezuka, guiding some second-years through cool-downs. Fuji smirks as Ryoma bolts for the court gates. In fifteen minutes flat, the younger boy has Tezuka on a court, ready to serve. 

The shift of Tezuka's regard is almost palpable, and Fuji slips away before Tezuka can remember about his existence again.

Unfortunately, he doesn't quite count on Inui, who is lying ambush in the clubhouse. "The probability of you trying to leave practice early is 87%," he says, stalking out of the shadows like a demon cat-spawn. He waves a bottle of what can be nothing else but Inui juice.

"What were the chances that Minami-buchou would call Tezuka in when I refused the captaincy?" Fuji walks to his locker and begins pulling out his things. "I didn't think they knew each other."

"Yamato-senpai was the one who taught Minami-buchou to play tennis, as a child," Inui informs him. "When you refused to be the next captain, the probability of Minami-buchou asking Yamato-senpai for advice was 92.3%. The probability of Yamato-senpai mentioning it to Tezuka was 137%."

"And the odds of Tezuka responding by leaving his pro career to captain a high school tennis club?" Fuji asks dryly.

"0.2%," Inui places his bottle on the bench with a flourish. It's blue this time—Fuji suspects Gatorade. "If my predictions are correct, Tezuka is only a couple of victories away from qualifying for Wimbledon. Returning would mean missing several crucial tournaments and dropping his world rankings. It is highly uncharacteristic, but it seems that our captain has, once again, chosen to defy the odds."

Fuji rather wishes he hasn't. "You want me to try that for you?" he asks, sniffing at the juice. "Do I smell ginger?"

"And several other things," says Inui. "I made it to be drunk before sleep. Play against me tomorrow, after practice, so I can see the effects."

"Will do," Fuji says. He grabs his tennis bag. "Inui..."

Inui pushes his glasses up his nose. "Yes?"

 _Why would he come back?_ is what Fuji wants to ask. Tezuka has such a promising career in the professional circuits. Inui is right—Tezuka would have broken into either Wimbledon or the US Open this year, if he hadn't decided to return to Seigaku. Why would he put a stop to that, all for the sake of a team he had left behind?

But Inui deals with events and data, makes predictions from all things that happen after the fact. He does not deal with motives—that is, and has always been, more Fuji's area. So Fuji smiles, shelves his question and relegates it to the corner of his mind that he's marked for things he'll never know about Tezuka Kunimitsu.

"Never mind."

* * *

That night, after a late dinner, Fuji finds two messages waiting for him. One is from Ryoma, the other from Oishi. He opens Ryoma's first, if only because he wants to know how badly Ryoma had lost.

 _Thanks for kidnapping me, Fuji-senpai_ , is what Ryoma sent. _I got yelled at by Ryuuzaki-sensei for ditching last practice_.

 _You're welcome_ , Fuji writes. _Did you win your game?_

He sips on Inui's new juice as he waits for an answer. It's tangy, but sweet—the kind that would taste great warm. He contemplates going down to the kitchen to heat it up, but before he can decide, his phone pings again.

 _Che_ , Ryoma writes. Then, in quick succession: _Buchou said you lost 6-1. That was sloppy, Fuji-senpai. He'd make you run thirty laps._

 _Tezuka's not buchou yet_ , Fuji replies. _He's not even a regular. He can't make me run laps._

 _I would have made you run sixty laps_ , Ryoma replies, and Fuji chuckles.

Somewhere along the line, Ryoma had adopted Tezuka's interest in pushing people to the limits. It's probably a captain thing, borne out of the desire to have the best players possible in their conquest of the nationals. Maybe it's for the best, then, that Fuji is not appointed captain after all. He's good at pushing people, but the people he pushes tend to break instead of grow.

He switches to Oishi's message. This one reads, _Did he tell you he was coming back?_

 _No_ , Fuji writes. _Did he tell you?_

Oishi's reply is immediate; the question must have been eating at his mind. _No. If I had, I would've stopped him. He's too close to breaking into Wimbledon to leave!_

Fuji begins typing, but Oishi is faster. _Minami-buchou offered me the captaincy two weeks ago. I refused, because I thought he should've asked you. I didn't think he'd ask Tezuka instead._

 _He did ask me_ , Fuji types quickly. _I said no. I thought you'd get it for sure._

For a moment, Fuji hesitates. Then he writes, _It's my bad. I will apologize to Tezuka tomorrow._

 _He won't accept it_ , writes Oishi. _You know how he is. He makes his own decisions._

 _And that_ , Fuji thinks, _is the entire problem_. If Tezuka had just sent a text their way... at fourteen, Tezuka has proven himself a capable leader. Fuji has no doubt Tezuka could push either himself or Oishi into accepting the captaincy using a few well-chosen words. Instead...

He sighs. It is getting late. Fuji downs the remaining Inui juice and pads to the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he returns to his bedroom, he finds a final message waiting for him.

_It's not your fault, you know. I said no, too._

Fuji scoffs. Oishi may have said no, but he isn't the one that Minami-buchou had put his hopes in, and everyone in the club knows that. He throws himself onto his bed and stares blankly at the ceiling.

That night, sleep takes a long time to come.


	2. Chapter 2

Fuji wakes up with a nasty headache.

He doesn't know how long he lies there, feeling like a nail is wedged at the back of his skull, but it feels like forever until he hears a tentative voice call out, "Gege? You awake?"

He tries to answer, but the only thing that comes out is a pained whine. Dimly, he hears pounding feet and the slosh of water. A gentle hand works itself around his shoulder and draws him up. Something is pushed into his palm; he peers at it stupidly before realizing that it's medicine.

"Drink," the voice says, and Fuji obliges. "If you're feeling bad you should've taken your medicine. Stupid gege."

A glass of water is pushed into his hand, and he gulps it down. Abruptly a wave of nausea came over him. Fuji pulls up his knees, lowering his head to rest above them. What is going on with him? Is he coming down with something? The only time he's ever felt this bad was after that match with Kirihara Akaya, where the boy had slammed a tennis ball at Fuji's skull with all his strength.

"I've got to go early," says the voice. "I forgot my homework at the dorms. Should I tell ma to call in sick?"

Call in sick? No, he can't. "T'nis practice," he mutters.

The voice snorts. "See you next week, gege."

Footsteps. The door swings shut.

Fuji stares blankly at the room in front of him. The pain is fading, ever-so-slowly, but confusion is rushing in quickly to replace it because _he does not know where he is_. It's a bedroom, that much is clear, but it's not one he's ever seen his whole life. It's smaller than his, for one, cluttered but still comfy. A slightly open tennis bag lays against the side of a desk, the white handle of a racket peeking out.

A phone lays on the table, charging. It isn't his, but Fuji opens it anyway. He tries his own pass code, just because, and is surprised when it works. Then he blinks, because _those characters aren't Japanese_. They're Chinese, and yet Fuji can understand them just fine.

Interesting. He pores over the phone.

The phone, as it turns out, belongs to someone called Zhuo Zhi. He goes to Yu Qing High School, and is apparently on the tennis team along with someone called Tang Jiale and Chi Dayong. Both of them have been messaging him fairly regularly about his headaches. A quick scan reveals that about a week ago, a certain Yuan Chi had hit Zhuo Zhi's head during the finals of a tennis competition—and that Tang Jiale thinks it's really impressive how Zhuo Zhi managed to win, even with his eyes closed.

The seed of suspicion begins to sprout.

Fuji puts the phone down and navigates to a desk in a corner of the room. There's a racket bag leaning against its side, and a gold medal from the provincials tournament above the desk. A bottle of prescription medicines lay half-open, probably the one that Yuuta had given him. But if he's feeling the effects of Zhuo Zhi's little incident, then that means...

He looks in a mirror. Huh.

This definitely wasn't the body he'd gone to sleep in last night.

Well, then. If his suspicions are correct and Zhuo Zhi is indeed an alternate universe version of Fuji, it seems that for the time being, he's set on repeating his middle school nationals experience, only in high school, somehow. He sighs. After tasting tennis at the world stage, he doesn't know if he wants to go back to those times.

But, well.

If he gets too bored, there's always Tezuka to play with.

Fuji grabs his tennis bag and gets on his way.

* * *

Zhuo Zhi wakes up speaking Japanese.

This is a rather alarming occurrence, because Zhuo Zhi has never spoken a word of Japanese in his life. He also has never woken up in a completely unfamiliar bedroom with no idea of how he got there in the first place. None of that, however, is as alarming as the fact that he seems to have woken up in the wrong body altogether.

He knows, because even though all his features remain the same, he definitely hadn't needed a haircut last night.

There is a phone on the bedside table. The lock screen is a photo of himself and Zhuo Yu, and their hairs were cut in a way Zhuo Zhi had never seen in his life. He tries the passcode he uses on his own phone, and wonder of wonders, it works.

Some snooping tells him that the body he's inhabiting belongs to Fuji Shuusuke, second-year in Seishun High and a member of their tennis club. Today is Thursday, and he has school and tennis practice right after. Zhuo Zhi sighs in relief. Tennis, at least, he knows how to do.

There is a knock at the door. "Shuusuke, are you up? You'll be late for school!"

"Yes, kaasan!" Zhuo Zhi answers reflexively. It comes out in Japanese, which makes him wince, but at least Shuusuke's mother doesn't seem to find anything odd about it and moves on quickly to waking someone called Yumiko.

Dazed, he makes his way through his morning routine.

He steals glances at his family over breakfast. They live in a sizable two-storey house instead of an apartment, but even though they have more space, he couldn't find Xiao Yu anywhere. He tried searching through his phone, but there is absolutely no mention of anyone called Zhuo Yu.

"Shuusuke."

...it might be because his name, in this world, is not Zhuo Yu. Zhuo Zhi swallows his food and smiles. "Yes?"

"Are you okay? You seem off today."

"Ah..." Zhuo Zhi tilts his head. "Just a bit tired. Tennis practice was a bit hard, yesterday."

"You seem to enjoy it more, these days," says Yumiko, who is probably his big sister. "If you're tired, Shuusuke, how about I give you a lift to school?"

Zhuo Zhi doesn't even know what school he goes to, let alone how to get there, so he nods. He just hopes that she doesn't discover that he has no idea who she really is before he gets to school.

* * *

It isn't too hard to find his school and his class—those are all written in Zhuo Zhi's books and assignments. He's pleased to discover that Zhuo Zhi is about as diligent as he is—that is to say, not very. But he was diligent enough to keep the teachers' attention off him, and Fuji is grateful for that. After all, Zhuo Zhi is one year ahead of him, so the teacher calling upon him would've been... troublesome.

He is in a good mood until lunch break rolls around and he hears a couple of girls mention Germany. Fuji keeps his head down, pretending to read, and is rewarded by the information that a certain Mu Siyang has been in Germany for a while. Girl One wonders if his surgery hadn't gone well after all. Girl Two tells her not to say things like that, not after what he's done for Yu Qing in the match against Ji Jingwu. Fuji scoffs. He only knows of one particular match that would inspire that kind of awe.

If Ji Jingwu isn't this world's version of Atobe Keigo, he would burn all his photographs. And if Mu Siyang isn't this world's version of Tezuka Kunimitsu, he'd then dump his favorite camera into the sea.

He doesn't know what he expected—it's just so like Tezuka, to be gone when Fuji wants him there. Thankfully, Tang Jiale, who seems to be this universe's incarnation of Eiji, doesn't seem to mind his sour mood. The boy bounds into his class, takes a look at Fuji, and sticks to his side like a limpet, talking a mile a minute.

"Zhuo Zhi, why do you look so down?" he says finally, when Fuji's mood proves unabated until the end of lunch break. "You need to cheer up now. Cheer-up! Siyang is coming back today, and we must all be happy for our surprise party! Oh, Dachi showed me the video you made for him. It's really good! Siyang will like it, I'm sure. So smile, hmm? I'll see you after class!"

Jiale gives him a brief hug and rushes off, vaulting over two desks and slipping out just as the teacher walks in.

Not a lot of people would be able to tell, but for the first time that day, the smile Fuji puts on his face is completely and utterly sincere.

* * *

Siyang's counterpart, Tezuka Kunimitsu, isn't at tennis practice.

His absence grates on Zhuo Zhi. Others must be able to sense it, for everyone gives him a wide berth. It confuses him—Zhuo Zhi doesn't think he is quite that transparent, nor that intimidating. Apparently, Fuji Shuusuke's teammates disagree, and Zhuo Zhi is mostly left on his own.

This state of affairs lasts until a middle-schooler who can only be this universe's Lu Xia pops up, brandishing a racket. For some reason, no one bothers to reprimand him for crashing into the high school's tennis practice, and Zhuo Zhi stares at him, bemused.

"Fuji-senpai," he says, tugging at his cap. "Buchou said I can play with you today. If you lose, you have to run those sixty laps."

Zhuo Zhi smiles. "And if I win?"

The Lu Xia lookalike smirks. "I'll run the laps for you."

They play.

Zhuo Zhi is startled to discover that Echizen Ryoma is already much better than Lu Xia is. He plays as best as he can, but Echizen is like a rampaging wildfire and it takes everything Zhuo Zhi has to keep him in check. The boy wins one game, and then two, and then in the middle of the third he drops his racket, scowling. "Mada mada su, Fuji-senpai," he says. Oddly, he sounds disappointed.

"Hm?" Zhuo Zhi tilts his head, considering. "You've gotten much better."

Echizen sulks. "That's because you're not playing seriously."

Zhuo Zhi is startled enough to answer with "I _am_ ," two simple words that send an unexpected hush across the courts. Echizen's head snaps up, and behind him, a very familiar voice says, "Fuji."

"Siyang," Zhuo Zhi blurts out, and regrets it. The stony face he sees when he turns around definitely does not belong to his best friend, never mind that it holds all the same features. "I mean. K—Tezuka."

Tezuka Kunimitsu surveys him for a moment longer, before tilting his head to the left, a silent order to follow. Zhuo Zhi obliges. Through the corner of his eyes, he sees the tennis club members staring—how dramatic, he thinks absently. Siyang would've ordered them to run laps by now.

As they pass through the court gates, Tezuka turns around and barks, "What are you all staring at? Thirty laps!"

Zhuo Zhi is startled into a laugh. When he looks at Tezuka, he sees the ghost of a smile playing at his lips.

* * *

Mu Siyang raises the provincial trophy and actually _laughs_.

Fuji skulks at the edge of the celebration, alternating between petulance and delight at watching the boy who wears Tezuka Kunimitsu's face display his happiness for the world to see. Indeed, a provincial victory is a cause for celebration, but he feels kind of cheated that _his_ Tezuka's expression hadn't even flickered until they'd won their national victory. Watching Mu Siyang celebrate, however, is the next best thing, so Fuji does his best to drink it in. He even manages to snap a few discreet photos—he thinks Zhuo Zhi might appreciate them, if nothing else.

Normally, in these kinds of situations, he doesn't stray far from Tezuka's side. His antisocial captain can get prickly if other people test his patience too much, and Fuji considers it his duty to ward off unnecessary teasing so Tezuka won't end the festivities early. Mu Siyang, however, seems to be able to handle himself, so Fuji settles in at the edge of a railing and lets himself observe these people who wear his friends' faces.

To his surprise, Siyang comes over anyway. "Zhuo Zhi," he says. There's a softness in his face that was never there in Tezuka's. "Thank you for the video."

"It wasn't me," Fuji says, quite truthfully, and Siyang gives him a look. Fuji isn't as well-versed in Mu Siyang as he is in Tezuka Kunimitsu, but he doesn't have to be—compared to Tezuka, Siyang is an open book. Right now, the look he's giving Fuji speaks of most eloquent disbelief. Fuji laughs at him.

"It really wasn't me," Fuji says. He adds a touch of playfulness to his tone. "Duizhang, I didn't even know you were coming back until today!"

"Really," Siyang says, indulgent. Fuji thinks he will never tire of seeing Tezuka Kunimitsu actually express emotions. "And why did you not know until today? I know Ji Jingwu tattled on me."

"It's because I'm from another world," Fuji tells him. "One where you left for Germany to become a pro."

Fuji manages to keep his tone light and whimsical, but he can't quite contain the bite at the end. Siyang sighs. "It's just a surgery. Besides, I only did it so I can come back and fight with all of you."

The inherent confidence in the statement robs him of words for a moment—it's everything Fuji had ever wanted to hear, said as if it was nothing more than another fact of the universe. It's incredibly unfair because Fuji knows that the statement is the farthest thing from the truth. Wherever he is, Tezuka will always chase his dreams, and damn the consequences.

Damn the people he left behind.

Fuji swallows once, twice. Despite the face, the boy in front of him is not the Tezuka who left, and there would be no closure to be found in screaming at him. Instead, Fuji summons up a smile from somewhere deep inside him. Tries to think up something that would not be out of place to say for a Fuji who had never been left behind.

He couldn’t come up with anything, but Siyang doesn't seem to mind. They stand like that, side by side, watching over their tennis club as they celebrate their victory.

* * *

Tezuka leads Zhuo Zhi into the clubhouse, closes the door, and reaches out to turn the lights on. He stays silent the entire time, and Zhuo Zhi feels… off. With Siyang, this would have felt comfortable, but with Tezuka, he feels as if he's going to get chided if he so much as opens his mouth. He wonders how Fuji Shuusuke handles being in a team with this stoic, silent captain, who is now gazing at him with his arms crossed.

After a few moments, Zhuo Zhi breaks. "What?"

Tezuka stares at him for a few moments more. "You're not yourself. Explain."

Zhuo Zhi sighs and starts flipping his racket. He hadn't known that it was possible to be less encouraging than a sullen Mu Siyang. "I'm not," he agrees. "I don't know if you'd believe me, but. I think I'm from another world. My name is Zhuo Zhi. I'm a student at Yu Qing High School. This morning, I suddenly just... woke up in this body."

"But you can use Fuji's triple counters," says Tezuka. "The first ones, at any rate."

"The first ones?" Zhuo Zhi tilts his head. "There are more?"

"Yes, but you don't use them much nowadays," Tezuka says. "You're more of an all-rounder now, and the Critical Winds suit that play style better."

But _why_ , Zhuo Zhi wants to ask. "Playing offensive doesn't really suit me."

"You think so?" Tezuka says, and Zhuo Zhi thinks that for his lack of expression, Tezuka is startlingly expressive, in his own way. "You helped Japan win the World U-17 Championship with that style."

Zhuo Zhi smiles. Bringing international glory for their country with tennis... It seems that for all their similarities, Fuji Shuusuke and Zhuo Zhi are vastly different people. "I'm sure most of it was your work."

"Of course not," Tezuka says. His voice was distant. "I was playing for Germany's U-17 team, after all."

Zhuo Zhi's racket slips from his suddenly-clumsy fingers. "You what?"

Tezuka's expression does not change. Instead, he glances at Zhuo Zhi, before staring disapprovingly at the fallen racket, like it's just tripped and spilled coffee all over the floor. "You really aren't Fuji."

"You were doubting me?" Zhuo Zhi thought Tezuka had been taking him seriously. "You pulled me from practice. You must've known something was going on."

"It would be just like Fuji to feign amnesia for one reason or the other," says Tezuka, and — yes, Zhuo Zhi could see himself doing that too, but not against this stone-faced Tezuka Kunimitsu. His total lack of reaction to everything makes him no fun at all.

Finally, Tezuka sighs. "We have to send you back. How did you get here in the first place?"

"I have no idea," Zhuo Zhi admitted. "I didn't do anything weird yesterday. There's school, then tennis practice. I stayed up late finishing up a video for yo—well, for a project. I drank the new Yan-juice. Then—"

"Yan-juice?"

"Yan Zhiming makes them," Zhuo Zhi said. He hadn't gotten around to finding his name in this alternate universe. "He's tall, wears glasses, makes training plans for us? And he collects data and uses it to predict the opponent's movements?"

Tezuka's eyebrow twitches. " _Inui_."

Zhuo Zhi frowns. "You think _Yan's juice_ sent me into another world?"

Tezuka strides towards the door. "It wouldn't be a surprise."

"It wouldn't be a—" The door bangs open, and Zhuo Zhi hurries after the irate captain. "Just what does A-Yan put into _your_ juices?"

* * *

The next day happens to be a school holiday, and Siyang calls to ask if he wants to go fishing.

He expects Siyang to go up to some mountain stream, but Fuji cannot find Zhuo Zhi's hiking boots and so he settles for a pair of sneakers and comfortable clothes. Thankfully, Siyang's chosen spot is very much in the city, a quaint spot under a large, grey, and utterly ordinary bridge. Nothing notable about it save for the clear fact that Siyang regularly frequents the place. Zhuo Zhi has no fishing tools, but Siyang brings enough for both of them, and Fuji pokes through his bag as Siyang sets up their stools.

It has been years since he'd accompanied Tezuka on one of his fishing trips, but his fingers still remember the motions of setting up a fishing rod. Deftly, he spools the reel and attaches it to the rod, and he is in the process of setting up the bobber and bait when he senses Siyang's eyes on him.

"You've gotten much better at this," he says when Fuji catches his eye. "I thought you didn't really enjoy fishing."

Fuji hadn't, not in the beginning. But he'd appreciated Tezuka's friendship and steadiness more, and in the end he'd learned to appreciate fishing itself. He has no idea how to explain this to Mu Siyang, though, who simply looks at him steadily before finally saying, "What's wrong?"

Fuji smiles. "Not much. It's just... been a while."

Siyang gazes at the stream. "It hasn't been that long," he notes. "I only missed the match with Hai Guang."

"It's good to have you back, nonetheless." Fuji hums as he watches his own bobber dip into the water. "Excuse me."

He reaches for his fishing rod, delighted. Fuji reels in the fish slowly, patiently, exactly as Tezuka had taught him. The fish puts up a bit of a fight, but in the end, Fuji prevails. He hands over the fish to Siyang with a smile. "It seems that I'm exceptionally lucky today."

"Exceptionally," Siyang echoes. He turns around and busies himself with his cooler. "Zhuo Zhi, is there something on your mind?"

"Not particularly," Fuji says, setting up his own bait again. "Why?"

"You're... different," Siyang says. "Are you sure there's nothing you want to tell me?"

Fuji turns to gaze at Siyang, cataloging the furrow at his brow, the slight downturn of his mouth. The way he holds himself still—too still, as if waiting for a storm to break. This Mu Siyang is a stranger to him, and yet Fuji can still read the worry coiled around his entire being. No matter where he is in the universe, apparently, Tezuka Kunimitsu will always be an open book to him.

"Actually," Fuji says, "While we're here, there's something I want to ask you."

* * *

It turns out that this universe's equivalent of Yan Zhiming, Inui Sadaharu, had indeed been working on a new juice and had allowed Fuji Shuusuke a taste-test yesterday. Tezuka gave him an earful, but he absolutely refuses to let Zhuo Zhi talk to Inui about his juices, no matter how Zhuo Zhi cajoles him. "You'll have to _drink it_ ," he says firmly. "It's better not to know what he's put in this time."

"I think they taste fine," Zhuo Zhi tries. "How bad could it be? Yan's juices were mostly vegetables. And herbs."

"Vegetables and herbs don't send people into parallel _universes_ ," Tezuka says. "I won't risk it. Your captain will be very angry if he doesn't get you back."

"It'll be fine," Zhuo Zhi says, laughing. "You said Fuji-san plays better than me, so Siyang would be delighted. Maybe he'd put Fuji-san in Singles 1, so he can rest his arms for once. I should even stay here until the end of the nationals if that's the case."

Tezuka stares at Zhuo Zhi, and somehow, he feels as if he's given a wrong answer to a teacher. "What?"

Tezuka shakes his head. After a short pause, he said, "Nationals?"

"It's our goal," Zhuo Zhi informs him. "Yu Qing hasn't gotten into nationals for quite some time. Last year we didn't even get into the nationals. Siyang and Dachi want us to win, this year."

Tezuka's brow furrows. "Ah. I see. That's why you only have three counters. You haven't won the nationals yet."

"You have?" Zhuo Zhi says. "But... you're only second-years."

Tezuka nods. "This is actually our second time around playing together," he says. "We first met in middle school, and won the National Championship there. That's how we got invited to Japan's U-17 Camp."

Zhuo Zhi turns this over in his mind. "...and then you left?"

"And then I left," Tezuka agrees. "Zhuo Zhi-san. Would you care to have a match with me?"


	3. Chapter 3

Siyang’s turns to Fuji, surveying at him for a moment before closing his cooler with a final click. Finally, he stands up. With his left hand, he catches Fuji’s elbow and steers them both to their stools.

"Go on, then," he says after Fuji has settled himself. His auburn-tinted hair ruffles in the afternoon breeze, and there is a certain serenity in his eyes. It makes him look younger.

"Okay," Fuji says. "Say, after this, we win the nationals. First place. And because this year, middle school tennis has just been that good, especially with you and Ji Jingwu, and—all the school captains... say we all caught the attention of the U-17 Camp."

Siyang gazes at his bobber pensively. "That would be nice. But it's best not to think of things that haven't happened yet, Zhuo Zhi."

"Indulge me," Fuji says. He waits for Siyang to nod before continuing. "Say all this happened, but before we could get to the world tour, you left for Germany."

Siyang smiles. "And?"

"And you become a professional tennis player," Fuji says. His eyes burn slightly—must be the wind. He's not getting teary-eyed over something that happened two years ago, not at all. "Maybe we even face each other in the tournament, wouldn't that be nice? But then I go home, and you don't. Before we know it, you're winning tournaments all over the world, and you're this close to qualifying for Wimbledon."

At this point, his voice noticeably wavers. Siyang turns. "Zhuo Zhi?"

"Wait," Fuji says. "Just... you're this close to qualifying for Wimbledon. One or two victories away, perhaps. But then our previous captain tells you that no one in Yu Qing... University wants to be the captain."

Fuji pauses, swallows a couple of times. When he gets his voice under control again, he says, "Say you come home."

Siyang makes a small, inquiring noise.

"Why would you do something as stupid as that?"

"I don't think it's stupid," Mu Siyang offers hesitantly. "I think... the only reason I'd do something like that would be because I wanted to play with all of you again."

Fuji's heart sinks. Of course. Siyang is not Tezuka, even though they wear the same face. What's more, it seems that in this world, he hasn't decided to leave the country yet. It's stupid to expect any kind of closure from him.

But Fuji couldn't seem to help himself. "You were the one who left." Left, with barely a word to anyone, barely any piece of contact, though perhaps Fuji should have expected that from someone like Tezuka.

Siyang looks thoughtful. "Where are you in this daydream of yours? Do you still play tennis?"

Fuji smiles wistfully. "I was going to stop," he confesses. "I didn't see the point, with you gone. So I challenged you into a final game, before you left."

Siyang looks away. "Did you win?"

"We didn't play to the end," Fuji laughs. "You stopped. Said that you won't play with me as I was, back then."

Eiji had been angry, he remembered. He couldn't understand why Tezuka had said something like that, and Tezuka hadn't bothered to explain, either. But Siyang seems to understand immediately. "But you kept playing tennis after that."

"Yes," Fuji says. "I did."

"You never went pro, though," says Siyang, and Fuji nods. "You probably joined the university team. With me gone, you'd be the best in Yu Qing. Singles One. And because you're the best, they'd ask you to be the next captain. So when you said no one wants to be captain in university, you meant you didn't want to."

Fuji laughs, a bit unnerved at how well Mu Siyang had managed to read him. "You're good at this. I didn't think you were the imaginative type."

"Not really," Siyang says. "But I know you. This is really bothering you, isn't it, Zhuo Zhi? This isn't just something you thought of to entertain yourself."

Siyang turns his body fully to face Fuji. He looks serious, but there is an earnestness there, and concern. Tezuka is the same way—he's always so serious that most people miss that everything he does is always for the good of the people he loves. Except for leaving. That, he does only for himself, and Fuji never could quite forgive himself for being so hurt by Tezuka's decision. Not when Tezuka had been looking after his own interests, for once.

Siyang nods, seeming to come to a decision. "Tell me everything."

Fuji does.

* * *

If Echizen Ryoma is a wildfire, then Tezuka Kunimitsu is a finely honed blade.

His tennis is steady, understated—just like Siyang's. There's an edge of steel there, though, that Siyang doesn't possess, not quite yet. Zhuo Zhi thinks he could play all day and Tezuka would never be exhausted, he'd just return all Zhuo Zhi's attacks, steadily pushing his limits until Zhuo Zhi breaks and loses a point.

"Is that all?" Tezuka said. "Come at me with all you have!"

So Zhuo Zhi pushes himself farther. He reaches for that fine edge of concentration he'd had when he played against Yuan Chi, where nothing matters except him and the ball and the court beneath his feet. And then he looks across the net and the image of Siyang, in pain, sears across his mind and refuses to fade.

Zhuo Zhi knows, intellectually, that he's not playing against Siyang. He knows that in this world everyone is already far ahead of him—little Echizen has blossomed into a formidable player in his own right, and Tezuka has made a name for himself in the international circuit. He doesn't doubt that this Tezuka is more than capable of holding him back.

And yet, Siyang's ghost refuses to fade.

"I can't," Zhuo Zhi gasps. Tezuka's shot hits the ground, but Zhuo Zhi doesn't bother going after it. "I won't. Not against you."

"Zhuo Zhi," Tezuka says, and there's something like disappointment in his gaze.

"No," Zhuo Zhi pants. He's still too out of breath from their last rally. "Do you—did you ever play Fuji Shuusuke? Back when you were first-years?"

Tezuka pauses, lowers his racket. "Aa."

"You went against him even though you'd injured your arm," Zhuo Zhi says, and Tezuka nods. "You did that even though—you didn't have to. You just wanted the challenge, wanted to push me, and you risked your own arm to do it."

Tezuka's expression remains unreadable.

"This summer, Siyang, my captain — he played against Ji Jingwu," Zhuo Zhi says. "I asked him — he told us that it'd be fine, that he'd end the match in thirty minutes, and if he couldn't, he'd give it up. And I believed him, and he played, and he refused to forfeit the match until his injury got so bad it needed surgery!"

There's a flicker of — something, in Tezuka's gaze. Recognition, maybe, or regret.

"You don't think what it's like for the rest of us," Zhuo Zhi barges on. He could never have said this to Siyang, but somehow it's easier to say it to Tezuka's unflinching, uncaring facade. "You want to sacrifice your own arm to challenge Ji Jingwu, fine. I warned you, but if you won't listen I can't do anything about it. But I won't be your grindstone so you can break yourself against me!"

Finally, Tezuka moves. He walks from the baseline, around the net, and stops.

"I've never wanted you as... someone to push myself against," Tezuka said slowly. "The only thing I wished from you was for you to go with me. To the regionals. To the nationals. To the world. That's why I asked you... asked _him_ to reach further."

Zhuo Zhi averts his face. He doesn't want Tezuka to see him like this, so he leans against his knees, letting Fuji Shuusuke's long hair obscure his face. "And if I can't?"

"You can," he says. "You've proven it. Over and over, you exceeded everyone's expectations."

"That's not me," Zhuo Zhi mutters. "That's Fuji Shuusuke."

"That's you, in every way that matters," says Tezuka.

"And what if that's not enough?" Zhuo Zhi says. His voice comes out shakier than he expected, and Zhuo Zhi instantly wishes he could take it back.

He could hear Tezuka's footsteps, coming closer and closer. At the edge of his vision, they stop.

Zhuo Zhi looks up.

"As long as you’ve played without regrets," says Tezuka, and somehow, he's never looked so much like Siyang until that moment. "It will always be enough."

* * *

Fuji doesn't look at Siyang once during his explanation. He's more than aware his circumstances are—odd, to say the least. But Siyang doesn't say anything, and it helps Fuji explain as clearly as he can.

When he's finished, Siyang says, "So everything you’ve told me, that was all real."

"Yes."

"Your Mu Siyang left?" Siyang says. "After refusing to finish the match he promised you?"

"That's right," Fuji tries to smile, but it takes so much effort that he drops it soon after. Something flickers in Mu Siyang's eyes, and his lips press together into a thin line. Fuji ducks his head. "Ah, don't blame him. He's not the kind of person who says much in the first place. We have... an understanding, and I've known for a while that our school is too small for someone like him."

"But you're still upset that he left."

"I'm his _friend_ ," Fuji looks away, fixing his gaze on the still waters. "I—I'm hardly going to resent him for leaving to chase after his dreams. He deserves nothing less from me. So I don't understand why he'd stop, just because—just because I'm being a little brat about the captaincy."

Because it's one thing to be left behind for his dreams, but it's quite another to be left behind for something Tezuka hadn't even cared enough for to chase after to the bitter end.

There’s a shift in the wind, a quiet whisper. Before Fuji can react, there are arms around him, a protective warmth against the bitter chill. Fuji exhales slowly, trying not to cry. Tezuka used to be his oasis, the one person who never demands anything of him, whose simple presence and silent understanding are a balm to his aching soul. And sometimes, Fuji misses him so much it feels like losing a limb. But it was worth it. It was worth it for the thought that one day, Tezuka's name will be etched into history as the best tennis player in the world, and Fuji Shuusuke would be able to say, hey. You know Tezuka Kunimitsu, that famous tennis player? He was my best friend. We used to take on the world together, and it feels like nothing can stop me when I'm by his side.

Above him, he hears a sigh, deep and weary. "I'm sorry," says Mu Siyang.

Fuji blinks. "Pardon?"

"I'm sorry," Siyang repeats, "For all the trouble I've caused you."

Fuji laughs. It comes out choked and wet, like a stifled sob. "You haven't done anything to me."

"I'm saying it for your Mu Siyang," Siyang says. When he speaks again, it is slow and halting. "You're not my Zhuo Zhi, and I'm not your Tezuka. But I... no matter where I am, no matter who I am, I know that I must be your friend. And I shouldn't have done this to you."

"It's not his fault," Fuji says quietly. "He is who he is, and he will chase his dreams to the ends of earth, if need be. I just wish he didn't have to leave the rest of us behind to do it."

"I will keep that in mind," Siyang says. Then he hesitates. "For what it's worth, A-Fuji... I don't think he'd meant to leave you."

Fuji withdraws, just enough that he can look at Siyang. "And how would you know that?"

"Because he didn't give you the retirement match you wanted," Siyang's smile is small and oh, so very gentle. "If he'd meant to leave you, he would have never asked you to come after him."

* * *

"So you think this is it?" Zhuo Zhi asks. "I just have to drink this juice, and I'll go home?"

"Well," Tezuka says, "It definitely wasn't the vegetable juice that sent you here."

That is definitely amusement in the quirk of Tezuka's mouth. Zhuo Zhi can't quite keep himself from smiling. It turns out that Tezuka Kunimitsu isn't that hard to read, after all.

Inui clears his throat. "The odds of this juice sending you back to your universe is 89.2%."

Zhuo Zhi laughs. "And the other 10.8%?"

"Just drink it," Tezuka says. Zhuo Zhi toasts him and gulps the drink down.

It tastes...

"Not bad," he pronounces, and Inui smirks. He turns to put the glass down...

...and the world goes dark.

* * *

Fuji wakes up in the clubhouse.

There's the taste of ginger in his mouth, and his head is pounding like the day after his match against Kirihara Akaya. Fuji groans and curls up in pain, hoping he wouldn't throw up. He really didn't want to have to clean up.

"Fuji."

The light streaming in is a dim orange. Practice has long since ended, Fuji thinks. He will be late getting home. He will have to make excuses to his sister and mother, tell them that he'd fallen asleep at the clubhouse because... because...

He opened his eyes. The concerned face peering over him was very much familiar. "Siyang?"

The captain coughs. "It's Tezuka."

Fuji scrambles up. He feels like there's a nail wedged into his skull, but he does his best to ignore it. "I'm sorry for falling asleep at the clubhouse. You needn't have waited up for me—I would've locked up."

And there's the unreadable look that he is all-too-familiar with. "I needed to make sure you were alright."

"I'm alright," Fuji says quickly. "I just had the weirdest dream..."

He trails off. His headache had gotten worse, but that isn't important—there was—another world—was that really just a dream? Fuji squints, trying to force his brain to work again. Everything had seemed so—so—

There were hands on his shoulders, pushing him to lie back down on something soft—a towel? Fuji obeys, distracted. He'd woken up as someone called Zhuo Zhi. He'd gone to a weird version of Seigaku High, and he’d been with his team again, somehow reliving their glorious middle school days.

What a wistful dream.

There are fingers at his temple, massaging gently, grounding him as he returns to the real world. His headache slowly fades. He recalls Tang Jiale, a bit calmer than Eiji but with no less energy bursting at the seams. Only needing a look at his face before recognizing that he needed a bit of company and good cheer. It seems that Eiji is a good friend, no matter where he is.

"While you were gone," Tezuka says, "I got a visitor. He called himself Zhuo Zhi, and he says he's another version of you."

Fuji almost tumbles off the bench trying to get up, but Tezuka drapes his arm across Fuji's shoulders, keeping him steady. "I—"

"Fuji," Tezuka says. "Listen."

Fuji listens.

"I asked him to play a match with me," Tezuka says. "I saw his tennis, you see. It was good, but—well. For some reason, he seems to be unwilling to give everything he had."

Fuji scoffs. If all Tezuka's going to do is rehash his problems with Fuji's middle-school self, he's leaving.

"I asked him to play seriously," Tezuka says, "And he refused. He said that he doesn't want to be the grindstone on which I break myself."

"There were enough people who wanted to defeat you and you would've destroyed yourself indulging them," Fuji snaps. "So yes, Tezuka, I wasn't about to be one of them. Why are we rehashing the old days again?"

"Because you were never one of them in the first place," Tezuka says.

Fuji's eyes prickle, and he drapes an arm over his eyes before he could do something embarrassing, like cry. "Wasn't I?" he says, though it comes out as a thin whisper. "Mu Siyang was right, then."

Tezuka made a small, inquiring noise.

"You had only pushed me so far because you'd wanted me to come with you."

There was no answer. Fuji listens to the sound of their breathing. Behind his closed eyelids, he feels the warmth of sunlight fade, the coolness of dusk starting to set in.

"I knew you're one of the few who could come with me," Tezuka says eventually. "But even if you couldn't. Even if you wouldn't. I still want you by my side, Fuji. Never doubt that."

Fuji laughs.

"Fuji," Tezuka says. "This time, will you come after me?"

"Always," Fuji says.

Omake  
"Tezuka," said the haughty voice on the other end of the phone. "Ore-sama has heard that you have returned to the high school circuit. Seigaku will not stand uncontested! Ore-sama has contacted Hyotei—"  
Tezuka presses the mute button on his phone. As he puts it down, it chimes, announcing a text from one Sanada Genichirou that simply reads, "Tezukaa!" Beside him, Fuji laughs.

"Yukimura is on his way back to Japan," he says, waving his phone. "Apparently he's taking a break to return to high school. Your return has turned the high school league into a sudden pro circuit—Shiraishi tells me Chitose is delighted."

Tezuka sighs. "At least I won't be bored, this year."


End file.
